Post by Rhys Bevan on Jun 2, 2008 15:40:25 GMT
Rhys scanned the dank hospital distastefully. It was an ugly, grey building, cracked and worn down. The interior hadn't let the side down either. The walls were damp, the staff were unfriendly and the smell of sickness hung in the air. The staff had obviously made some attempt to brighten the place up a bit but it had failed miserably. After all, no one was there because they wanted to be.
But Rhys wasn't there to discuss the paint job with a gaggle of nurses. His corporal Jack Diaz had been badly wounded in a recent skirmish against a huge squad of Italio-German forces. An unmerciless German bullet had ripped through the Corporal's chest, sending his crashing to the ground, a waterfall of blood flowing from his body. Rhys had had no option but to retreat and so he and his men, carrying the wounded Diaz had fled from the battlefield and withdew to basecamp.
A young medic had treated Diaz as best he could, but supplies were scarce and the medic was inexperienced and scared. The wound had steadily grown infected and Rhys' entire squad had worried for the Corporal's life.
And that was why Rhys was here. Two days after the skirmish, Jack had been commited into the local hospital and was, apparently, improving in leaps and bounds. Rhys blamed himself for Jack's injury and so he had come on a personal visit to see the young corporal, flanked by a couple of privates who had also fought alongside him on the battlefield, namely Daniel Rich and Joseph Davies.
The three companions pushed through the double-doors and scanned the hideous ward for the injured Diaz. After a few moments, Rhys recognised him. He lay on an uncomfortable bed, a pathetic look on his face. It was hard not to laugh out loud. He looked a sorry figure.
"Corporal," nodded Rhys fondly.
Diaz looked up and grinned. He attempted a salute but the pain in his chest was unbearable. He merely squealed in pain and began to writhe in agony. Rhys took a step back. He had never seen his corporal like this before. He had been so full of life...Rhys swallowed. How bad was he?
But Rhys wasn't there to discuss the paint job with a gaggle of nurses. His corporal Jack Diaz had been badly wounded in a recent skirmish against a huge squad of Italio-German forces. An unmerciless German bullet had ripped through the Corporal's chest, sending his crashing to the ground, a waterfall of blood flowing from his body. Rhys had had no option but to retreat and so he and his men, carrying the wounded Diaz had fled from the battlefield and withdew to basecamp.
A young medic had treated Diaz as best he could, but supplies were scarce and the medic was inexperienced and scared. The wound had steadily grown infected and Rhys' entire squad had worried for the Corporal's life.
And that was why Rhys was here. Two days after the skirmish, Jack had been commited into the local hospital and was, apparently, improving in leaps and bounds. Rhys blamed himself for Jack's injury and so he had come on a personal visit to see the young corporal, flanked by a couple of privates who had also fought alongside him on the battlefield, namely Daniel Rich and Joseph Davies.
The three companions pushed through the double-doors and scanned the hideous ward for the injured Diaz. After a few moments, Rhys recognised him. He lay on an uncomfortable bed, a pathetic look on his face. It was hard not to laugh out loud. He looked a sorry figure.
"Corporal," nodded Rhys fondly.
Diaz looked up and grinned. He attempted a salute but the pain in his chest was unbearable. He merely squealed in pain and began to writhe in agony. Rhys took a step back. He had never seen his corporal like this before. He had been so full of life...Rhys swallowed. How bad was he?
